


hold him closer

by blithelybonny



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Wolves, M/M, Nudity, just a scene really, sort of pre-slash, touch starvation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 10:17:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17424005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blithelybonny/pseuds/blithelybonny
Summary: Kent's been neglecting himself, Jack can scent it.





	hold him closer

“Parson’s line would move faster if he is not take so long with each one,” Tater says, more grumbling than chirping in tone, before he turns on his smile and waves the next fan in his own line forward.

Jack would make a comment about _line size_ , but he’s too busy honing in on the bitter scent note that has been mellowing somewhat every time Parse lingers with a fan. Because Tater’s wrong: it’s not every fan that Parse is taking his sweet time with, it’s only the wolves. But it’s not even that he’s showing them preference over non-wolves. Every fan gets their moment, gets their selfie, gets their hug. The wolves just get a longer hug. The wolves just get Parse practically melting into them, looking like he’s moments from dropping to his knees and baring his neck, rolling onto his back and showing his belly, begging for the kind of touch that only a wolf can give another wolf.

There are no other wolves on the Aces, Jack knows. There aren’t that many wolves in the NHL—most who play professional sports can be found in the NFL or MLS—despite that a professional hockey team can feel very much like a pack, with its hierarchy and camaraderie and physical affection. But it’s also a catch-22: physical affection from non-wolves is welcome and enjoyable, but it’s never a substitute for the way being touched by a wolf soothes the ache of need. It’s like sinking into a nice hot bath after twenty minutes of hard ice time in chippy game. It’s like throwing yourself into your bed at home after a long slog of a roadie. It’s the settling of the wolf in your blood, recognizing _home_ and _safe_.

_Does he not have anyone?_

“Who?”

Jack looks up, pulled from his thoughts. “What?”

“Who doesn’t have anyone?” the fan repeats.

Embarrassed that he spoke aloud, Jack shakes his head and then offers a sheepish smile. “Sorry, buddy, I have no idea. Anyway, what’s your name?”

He gets through the rest of the interaction, but his eyes continue to drift across to the booth Parse is sharing with Matt Troy. Troy’s line is definitely moving much quicker than Parse’s is, and Jack can also see that the PR person hovering over their shoulders is becoming visibly more annoyed. Jack watches Troy get through five fans in quick succession, while Parse manages only two because he spends several long moments flirting shamelessly with a tall, broad-shouldered older wolf. Jack can smell the guy from here and see his alpha posturing and the way it’s making Parse respond even more, and it makes something uncomfortably like jealousy prickle in his chest.

Jack hasn’t been Parse’s alpha in a long, long time. He knows it’s completely misplaced and inappropriate, knows he has absolutely no claim on Parse and hasn’t since he left the draft and cut off everything from Before. But Parse is so obviously needy. Even if it wasn’t obvious in the way Parse is throwing himself at every wolf in the room, Jack can smell him—the spark of need, of arousal maybe, but more than that, the ache of a wolf that needs to be held by another wolf.

“Drinks after this, Zimmboni?” Tater asks, only barely pulling Jack’s attention away from the spectacle Parse is making of himself to no one but Jack.

“Maybe,” Jack replies. “Kinda beat though, might just go back to my room.”

Tater laughs. “Sure, sure. All this talking to fans is too much for you. Even when you barely say two words to them, hmmmm? Too busy staring at Parson.”

Jack inhales and then sighs aggressively through his nose to rid himself of the sudden spike of discontent that wafts over from Parse’s table. He turns his head to see the PR person holding Parse’s shoulder and talking into his ear, doubtlessly about the way he’s been conducting himself with the fans. “I’m not staring,” Jack then says uselessly. 

“Come for drinks. Is better way to spend your evening, I think,” Tater says, more seriously this time.

“Yeah, maybe…” Jack glances over one more time. Parse doesn’t look miserable as he starts to burn through the rest of his line, but Jack knows him—or at least he knew him once—and there’s something missing from his smile.

*-* *-*

Jack follows Parse back to his room after dinner and doesn’t even bother trying to hide. Parse holds the door open for him and then closes it behind them both, deadbolts it and then turns to press himself back against the door. “You’re really not subtle, you know that?” he breathes out.

“Wasn’t trying to be,” Jack replies. Up close like this, Parse’s scent is a mess and Jack can feel Parse’s wolf desperately calling out to his own. “Do you want to shift, or do you want skin?" 

Parse shudders bodily from only the question, doesn’t even try to deny what he needs and wants. “Skin,” he whispers, “please, I want skin.”

Jack slips out of his suit jacket and unbuttons his shirt, lets both pieces fall gracelessly behind him, then reaches out and does the same for Parse, who just barely holds back a whimper as Jack’s fingers graze along his naked chest as he undoes the buttons. “You’re starving, Kenny,” Jack says, half a reprimand and half a revelation that hits him square in the chest with the pain of it. He tugs Parse to himself and wraps his arms around him tightly.

Parse moans as he ducks his face into the hollow of Jack’s neck, scents him over and over, and presses in as close as he can, as if he could climb inside Jack’s body and take up residence there.

“How long has it been?” Jack murmurs into Parse’s wild blond hair. He slides one hand down to Parse’s lower back, uses it to push him closer still, pressing their hips together. Neither are hard, but it’s a near thing for Parse, and Jack is sure he could get there with a little coaxing. But he doesn’t want it just yet—he wants to know why the hell Parse has been depriving himself of what he needs.

Parse takes another deep breath of Jack’s scent and exhales with parted lips. Jack can feel the wet heat of his breath, feels the slight rasp of Parse’s chapped lips as he speaks his answer into Jack’s skin. “Not since the All Star Game.”

Jack growls. “Jesus, Kent, that was seven fucking months ago!” He pulls back and drags Parse’s gaze to meet his eye, hands cupping Parse’s face and holding him still. “Is there really no one? There’s no one you can go to?”

“Swoops and Scraps—”

“—aren’t wolves, Kenny,” Jack finishes for him, softening after the burst of anger.

“So fucking what,” Parse spits then, even as he squirms closer, pressing back into Jack’s embrace. “That whole thing is stupid and you know it. I love my boys and they love me, and they’ve always got my back.”

“I’m not saying that they don’t, and I think you know that,” Jack says, ignoring for a moment the roll of jealousy in his chest again. “Pack is pack, whatever form it comes in, but you need—”

“—I know what I need,” Parse interrupts. He breaks the embrace this time, only long enough to toe out of his shoes, unbuckle his belt, and take off his dress pants. “Come lay with me?” he asks, hopefully, as he slides his hands around Jack’s waist.

“Maybe I shouldn’t,” Jack says, even as he wraps his arms around Parse again. “You’re clearly not taking care of yourself—maybe I shouldn’t indulge you.” The threat is empty, and both of them know it.

“You smell good, Jack,” Parse says by way of answer, inhaling deeply of Jack’s scent again.

“Go get on the bed,” Jack orders.

“Yes, Alpha.” Parse’s tone is teasing, playful when he answers, but the shiver that runs through his body clearly belies his need.

*-* *-*

Parse flops onto the bed like an overeager puppy, wriggling around until he’s starfished out in the middle. He’s fully nude now, having rid himself of everything remaining while Jack pitstopped in the bathroom to shower off the remaining pheromone-duller he always wore to fan events, and Jack can instantly see the effect of his full-strength pheromones on Parse. Parse’s nose twitches, his eyes widen, and his hands come up to reach for Jack as he gets closer. “Zimms, please,” he whines.

Jack drops the towel from around his hips, climbs onto the bed and knee-walks until he’s between Parse’s open legs, then pitches forward to bracket his arms around Parse’s shoulders. He holds himself up just long enough to ask, “Me on top?”

“Yeah, please,” Parse exhales. “But lemme roll over.”

Jack waits until Parse shimmies himself into place, then lowers himself carefully down to cover Parse fully, pinning him down to the bed and pressing his nose to the scent-glands at the Parse’s neck. Parse relaxes immediately, tension seeming to leach out of him until he’s a boneless pile of contented wolf. The speed of it clearly indicates to Jack just how much Parse really is neglecting himself, and something ugly and mean curls up in the pit of his stomach, wondering how much of Parse’s reluctance is his fault. It feels arrogant as fuck, but he can’t help but blame himself.

Jack dropped out of the draft and left Parse to the mercy of the desert wolves. Parse hadn’t had anyone to make inroads with the insular pack for him. Jack, though having grown up an east coaster, came from desert stock through his mother’s lineage. Parse was a New Yorker through and through—even all these years in the desert had not taken that from him.

“Is there really no one?” Jack mutters into Parse’s skin, even though he’s sure he knows the answer.

“No one special,” Parse replies quietly. “I mean, I have a couple friends, but it’s not like…it isn’t how it…was.”

Jack is spoiled, he knows. He gravitated toward wolves at Samwell, and the Falconers have a league-high four wolves, including himself, all of whom he can count on to run with or cuddle with whenever he needs them. But back in Juniors, he was Kenny’s alpha, and Kenny was his omega, and it felt perfect.

He slides his arms underneath Parse’s chest and hooks them up and around to hold his shoulders, clutching Parse close and pressing into him skin-to-skin, warm and tight. “I do miss this,” Jack admits. “I miss…I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” Parse replies—it doesn’t feel like it’s been torn out of him like he can’t bear to admit it the way it has in the few times they’ve met since they broke up. It doesn’t feel calculated to cut at Jack either. It just feels like a statement, a fact. Kent Parson plays for the Las Vegas Aces in the National Hockey League, he is a wolf, and he misses Jack Zimmermann.                                                                                                                                                              

“I wish you would take care of yourself though, Kenny,” Jack then says, before he slides his legs between Parse’s and spreads them, opening Parse up so that he can pin him down better. He always liked this position the best before, Jack thinks he remembers correctly. Kenny always used to say he liked to feel vulnerable at the same time he felt secure.

Parse shivers beneath him and sighs contentedly, wriggling rhythmically a little bit.

“You rubbing off on the bed, buddy?” Jack asks then, unable to keep the amusement out of the question.

“Maybe a little,” he answers, chuckling. “Feels good though.” He then turns his head so he’s just barely able to look at Jack over his shoulder. Eyes half-lidded and smirk on his lips, Parse adds, “Why…gonna stop me, Alpha?”

It’s Jack’s turn to shudder. No one has called him that and meant it in a very long time. He’s never really been the kind of wolf to get off on strict roles like that, but he can’t deny that holding Kenny like this and hearing that word out of his mouth does feel really, really good. Still: “We don’t have to do anything more than this, Kenny,” Jack assures him. “You need to be held. Need to be grounded. I saw you out there today. You’d take it from anyone if you could—”

“—it’s not like that—”

“—because you’ve been holding back for so long. You need it, but you don’t know to let yourself go anymore, do you?”

Parse doesn’t answer for a long time, which is an answer itself. Finally, he sighs gently, relaxes again. “There’s this alpha guy that I hang out with sometimes, and I think…I think he might want me, but I don’t know if it’s just because I’m…you know… _Kent Parson_ , you know?”

Jack clings reflexively, but makes himself settle because he has absolutely no right to be jealous of some guy who might hypothetically be interested in Parse. But maybe it isn’t jealousy, actually. He takes a second to assess himself, but Parse beats him to it.

“Don’t be mad, Zimms,” he says, quietly. “I know what I’m worth, and I’m not just gonna jump some alpha because I need an alpha, but I also know I should be better about…about getting what I need.”

Jack presses his nose into Parse’s neck, feels him tense a little, then relax into the nuzzle. “I wish…I wish I could be there with you,” Jack says, then after a pause, kisses the back of Parse’s neck, lingers for a moment so as not to be mistaken, and then trails his lips down along Parse’s jawline as far as he can reach.

“I wish you could too,” Parse says, shivery and plaintive. “But you’re not…fuck, Zimms, you aren’t my alpha anymore. You—you left me. You left me _alone_.”

Jack stops kissing Parse, just presses his forehead against Parse’s back. Parse relaxes again, his body still humming with a light lingering tension from so much time without being held, but continuing to ease under Jack’s pin. It’s the worst thing an alpha can do to their omega, Jack knows. Everyone knows, actually. And it pains Jack still, even though it was the only thing he could do at the time to keep himself safe.

“I made a mistake,” he admits. “Or well…no, we—we weren’t good for each other at…at the end. But I didn’t handle it well. I shouldn’t have…”

“Shouldn’t have what?” Parse prompts after Jack pauses for too long. He squirms a little until Jack presses up just enough that Parse can roll over so he’s on his back again. Then, he smiles softly and nods, until Jack lowers himself back down. Parse wraps his arms around Jack’s back, and Jack presses him down into the bed, letting out a soft moan when their cocks brush against each other. “Shouldn’t have what, Jack?” Parse repeats, softer but more urgently.

“Shouldn’t have just left you alone,” Jack answers, after another long moment. He pushes up enough that he can look Parse in the eyes again, even as Parse tightens his hold around Jack’s waist. “I’m sorry, Kenny. I shouldn’t have just left. I owed you more than that. I still owe you more than that.”

Parse swallows hard. His eyes are a warm green and they look a little wet, but his lips pull up into a smile. “You could go ahead and make it up to me then, if you want,” he says. “This is a nice start and all, but…ya know.”

Jack grins fondly at him. “Got any ideas?”

“A few,” Parse says, smirking.

“Lay them on me, bud,” Jack replies. “I’m ready.”


End file.
